


a thousand fibers connect us

by thegrayness



Series: the touch of your hand [4]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As in DJL can’t follow a linear timeline so I shouldn’t have to either, But they are cute tentacles, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, David Rose Has Tentacles, Fluff, Fundraisers, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, M/M, Movie Night, Snacks & Snack Food, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/pseuds/thegrayness
Summary: Moira ropes David into knitting scarves for the Jazzagals winter fundraiser. Unfortunately, an injury to a tentacle throws him off schedule, and he tries to work through their recovery to get back on track. With some unexpected help and support from the Schitt’s Creek townspeople, David finds himself settling into a place he'd never imagined.





	a thousand fibers connect us

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> David's tentacles knitting cozy sweaters for everyone for the winter. Maybe he uses locally sourced material and starts selling them at Rose Apothecary
> 
> Oooookay. Not sure how anon this really ends up being, give the content so I’m just gonna do regular thank yous. 
> 
> RQ: somehow remembering every single thing that’s happened in canon and providing the info when I was too lazy to look it up or when I was ignoring my responsibilities and writing at work. Also for drawing me the floorplan of Patrick’s apartment because I could never, ever wrap my head around it. Also for background info on the Jazzagals even though it may not have made it into the fic.
> 
> Missgevious: knitting with tentacles input. ;)
> 
> This_is_not_nothing: knitting info and the most time consuming hand-holding and cheerleader of all time. DAILY reassurances and plot reworks and cute ideas. Every cute thing in this fic was her idea, I promise. So thanks!
> 
> Rosebudd Motel discord server: general sanity and validation.
> 
> Title from a quote by Herman Melville I found when googling "Cool quotes about community," which is an idea I got from wildxwired.🙃

“Patrick,” David said, overly loud and pleasant. “Would you please grab me a coffee from the Cafe while I chat with my _ mother _.” David glared at Moira across the store. 

“Sure, babe,” Patrick agreed, dropping a kiss on David’s cheek as he moved past him and out the door. 

“David I’m not sure why you insist on pretending you are not magisterial!” Moira swanned closed to him, picking up a bottle of massage oil and staring unfocused at the label.

“It’s not—!” David took a deep breath. “I’m not _ pretending _ anything,” he hissed. “I just _ don’t_. Want. To do it!”

Moira scoffed. “It’s for a charity David! Aren’t you always saying you’d like to diversify your benevolent efforts?”

“I have never _ once _ said that!” David felt a flash of warmth at the small of his back, indicating that his tentacles were ready to make an appearance. This happened sometimes when he was distressed. So—during most conversations with his mother, but he didn’t want them distracting her right now. 

“_Must _ you caterwaul at this time of morning, David? I will do some sleuthing to provide an adequate sweater design for you to use.”

David shook his head vigorously. “_ Absolutely not! _ If I do this—and that is an _ if_—it will be scarves. I’m not doing _ sweaters… _ do you even know what’s _ involved _ in sweaters?”

“No, dear, but I’m sure you will work all of that out. Now, I must go, I’m afraid I’m late for a previous engagement.” 

David shook his head in disbelief. “You came in _ here_. Go to your _ engagement _then!”

“I’ll just retrieve a wedge of—” David groaned in frustration and picked up a sample bottle of body milk. 

“Okay, thanks so much for stopping by!” He said with strained cheerfulness. He shoved the bottle at her and ushered her out the door.

*

“So what did your mom help herself to this time?” Patrick asked him as he returned from the Cafe. He handed David a takeaway cup, as he’d taken to surprising David with different orders of coffee he thought David might like. (_ “Maybe something with less sugar to hype you up all morning,” he’d teased.) _ David didn’t know what was in most of them, but they tasted plenty sweet to him. He leaned across the counter to give Patrick a much-deserved _ thank you _ kiss. 

“I managed to talk her out of a wedge of brie. She came here to bully me into helping with the Jazzagals fundraiser this winter.”

Patrick looked contemplative and took a sip of his own drink. “I didn’t know they were doing a fundraiser.”

“Apparently,” David scoffed but didn’t elaborate. Patrick let him off the hook for 45 whole seconds before bringing it up again. 

“So what do you have to do? Do they want to host something here? You don’t have to… perform anything, do you?” 

David managed to glare and sighed heavily as he put his drink down, leaning back against the counter. “Okay. I haven’t… told you this.” Patrick immediately put his own cup down and crossed his arms, staring at David expectantly. “I… I used to have this hobby…” he trailed off as if that would be explanation enough and he wouldn’t have to go on. 

“... This may be surprising, David, but that’s actually _ not _ a lot to go on…”

“I can knit,” David blurted. Patrick raised his brow, and then immediately furrowed it. 

“... like with yarn?”

David rolled his eyes. “_Yes _ with yarn, Patrick. Adelina taught me—well, sort of—I was pretty young. It was a weird hobby to have in middle school but—it was for my tentacles, really.” A few tentacles slid out; Patrick’s neck-tentacle slithered into its favorite spot, and Patrick shuffled closer to David to accommodate it. 

“For your tentacles?” Patrick was always open with his curiosity, and David really appreciated the honesty. He didn’t dance around asking questions, or treat David like he was fragile. He didn’t judge their wildly different upbringings. 

Patrick reached out to pet at the other tentacle that had wrapped itself around David’s waist. David shrugged. “I was a kid when I got them. I didn’t—you’ve seen them react to things—external stimuli and internal emotions. Adelina tried to help me...not control them but—be aware of what they could do and what _ I _ could do—with them.” He looked away, staring at their display of bath salts, and crossed his arms protectively. 

“That’s… _ amazing_, David.” Patrick put his hands on David’s shoulders. “Have you knitted some of the sweaters you wear?” He rested his hands on David’s chest, smoothing his hands over the printed _ WILD ALOOF REBEL_, and another tentacle slid out to wrap around his bare forearm. The neck-tentacle was still resting comfortably around the back of Patrick’s neck, its tip laying predictably in the dip of his collarbone. 

David slid his eyes back over to Patrick. “I’ve knitted one sweater, yes. I don’t wear it.”

A questioning look crossed Patrick’s face. “How come?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to it,” David mumbled, looking away again. “It took a _ long _ time to make, and sweaters are pretty complicated to knit, so I probably won’t be making myself another one.”

“You’ll have to show it to me sometime,” Patrick said. “I mean,” he backtracked, “if you want to. If you don’t—that’s okay, too.” David smushed a smile into the corner of his mouth and tilted his head back to look up at Patrick from his position slouched against the counter. 

“Okay,” he murmured, smiling properly as Patrick leaned down for a kiss. 

*

“Is knitting, like, a skill you’d have to practice in order to keep knowing how to do it? Or is it like riding a bike?” Patrick asked a week later as David squeezed skeins of yarn in a craft store in Elm Valley. David had insisted they didn’t need a basket, but Patrick had an armful of needles, stitch markers, and other various knitting paraphernalia as they wandered the yarn section. 

David hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve never forgotten before, though this has been the longest I’ve gone without knitting. It’ll probably just take me a bit to get in the groove.” He handed Patrick another skein, and Patrick accepted it dutifully, tucking it next to a soft blue and white marbled yarn in his arms. 

“And how many scarves do you have to make?”

David sighed, and gave Patrick an unhappy look. “Fifty.”

“Holy—David… are you going to have time to… do anything else?” David started to lead them towards the cash register, surveying his haul in Patrick’s arms. 

“Hm, you mean like my boyfriend? You’re wondering if I’ll have time to do him?” He teased, just to see Patrick blush in a craft store with an armful of yarn. David felt his tentacles yearning to reach out, so he brushed the back of his fingers along Patrick’s cheek in for them.

“No,” Patrick insisted. “I mean like… _ sleeping _?”

David stopped, turning to look at Patrick. Patrick was _ worried _ about him. About him getting enough sleep. About him over-extending himself. “I promise to get enough _ sleep_, Patrick,” he tried to sound annoyed, but the smile he attempted to suppress probably gave him away. 

*

Halfway through his stint as a scarf factory, David was giving his tentacles a much needed weekend off from knitting. His mother had been “checking in” with him every other day and he’d finally had to tell her to just _ “Let me knit!” _

So, David was making chili—a nice wintery dish. He’d found a recipe on a lifestyle blog he used to follow religiously in his old life, and it seemed easy enough. He was skeptical about canned kidney beans, but Patrick had assured him they were adequate _ even for your refined palate, babe_. He’d already chopped onions, and had them sauteeing while he opened the two cans of beans and one can of crushed tomatoes. (“ _ Can’t I just crush my own tomatoes?” He’d asked in the grocery store as Patrick dropped the can in the cart. “I’m not sure it works like that.”) _

He peeled back the lid on the final can, tilting it up so he could easily dump the beans in when it was time, and then neatly tuck the lid down to protect everyone’s appendages. Speaking of, David’s tentacles had made themselves at home in the kitchen of Patrick’s new apartment. Though Patrick’s neck-tentacle kept getting distracted every time Patrick yelled something at the sports he was watching, the rest of them were coming in quite handy during the chili-making process. One was diligently stirring the onions while David ‘eyeballed’ palmfuls of chili powder and cumin, and pinches of cayenne pepper before dropping them in with the onions. The mixture became dry and… weird, but the blog had warned him about that, and he kept stirring with a tentacle as directed. 

As David picked up the can of crushed tomatoes with his left hand, he knocked into the bowl of ground beef, and the rest happened almost all at once. A left-side zipped over to try and catch the bowl, but on its way, it snagged on the tilted up lid of a can of kidney beans. The bowl hit the floor and David cried out, fumbling the full can of tomatoes back onto the counter. A few of his tentacles retracted, startled, and the one holding the spoon felt comfortable simply throwing it into the living room before snaking itself around David’s torso. 

Patrick was next to David in seconds, turning off the burner on the stove and pulling him back a few steps. “What happened? Did you cut yourself?” He took David’s hands in his to inspect them.

David’s heart was pounding. “No,” he gasped, “my—the tentacle.” He lifted the injured limb gingerly, pulling it close to his chest with his hands. It wasn’t the first time he’d hurt one of them—he’d had them for more than two decades—but it had been a while. 

And it _ hurt_. 

David squeezed his eyes shut and turned slightly away from Patrick, who had been reaching over to touch the wounded tentacle. “Don’t,” David whispered. Patrick made a sad noise from behind him but didn’t try to move him, just pet soothingly along David’s shoulders. David groaned against the pain and reached out to grab the edge of the counter, away from the apparently dangerous mess he’d made. 

He felt Patrick’s hands fluttering around behind him, and David knew he wanted to do _ something _ to help. “Can you get me, like, an old t-shirt to wrap around it? I don’t want towel pieces to get inside the cut.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Patrick breathed before practically running over to his dresser. David held the tentacle in one hand, his other petting along its length, away from the cut, as thick, blue-ish blood seeped out of the split skin. It stung really badly and the whole thing throbbed with his now-slowing heart rate, and David stroked the tentacle wrapped protectively around his middle to soothe it—and himself.

Patrick returned with one of his t-shirts—it looked like it may have had a logo on it at some point, but was basically plain-colored now, a soft heathered gray. David held out his tentacle, wound centered between his two hands, and Patrick gently wrapped the shirt around it as a makeshift bandage. The blood from his tentacles was really hard to get out of clothes, so until David could get adequate bandages this would have to do. Patrick’s shirt would be ruined but David, at least, was willing to make that sacrifice.

David took a deep breath and let go of the tentacle. It was heavier, with the added weight of the t-shirt, but he thought he could manage. Patrick cleared his throat and spoke up. “It looks pretty deep, do you think you should see—”

“—see who? My tentacle doctor?”

Patrick was attempting to hide a smile. “... Ted? I know that sounds like the opposite of a good idea…”

“I’m not an _ animal_, Patrick.” David glared, could feel his blood heating up from the implication. Patrick blanched.

“No! No, David, that’s _ not _ what I meant. I just _ meant _ you’ve seen him before and he knows about the tentacles and it might be easier than driving all the way to Elmdale.”

David huffed out a frustrated breath and went to sit on the couch, pulling his legs underneath him and letting his wounded tentacle lay in his lap. He stroked it idly while he thought about the horror of visiting Ted’s clinic once again. He’s not even sure what Ted would be able to do—unless of course, it turned out David needed stitches which… he was just not gonna think about. 

Patrick sat down next to him, and David felt the neck-tentacle slide out to greet him. He wanted to roll his eyes but it was kind of endearing, damn them. Patrick pet the tentacle that reached out to him, and then the one in David’s lap, before leaning over to press a kiss to David’s cheek. “I’m just worried,” he whispered, leaving another kiss just under David’s ear, causing him to shiver all the way down to the tips of his tentacles.

A few more tentacles slid out, one around Patrick’s shoulders and a right-side came out to poke at the injured tentacle resting against David’s thigh. David gently pushed it away and was met with a little resistance, but it eventually settled down next to David on the couch. He knew Patrick was right, at the very least he should go and _ see _ Ted. He might have some topical antibiotic to apply once the bleeding stopped. David stared down at his injury again—at least the gray of Patrick’s t-shirt complemented the black and blue of David’s tentacles. Though—the black looked like it may be turning ashy and gray in the aftermath of the injury. David sighed. 

“Here why don’t you lay down, babe,” Patrick said, pulling gently at David’s arm. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen and then we’ll order pizza, okay?”

The tentacles that hadn’t made an appearance since the kitchen kerfuffle predictably slipped out at the mention of pizza. Patrick always seemed amused by this, especially since technically the tentacles did not actually _ eat _ pizza, but David always thought of it as anticipatory excitement about something that will—in the near future—make _ David _ happy. Even the injured one perked up a little, lifting its tip briefly before resting it back on David’s thigh. 

David followed Patrick over to the bed, and spent a few moments being thoroughly charmed while Patrick arranged the blankets and pillows for him to lay comfortably in the center, propped up against the headboard, with his tentacles out on either side of him. He _ adorably _ grabbed one of the decorative throw pillows from the couch and gently lifted David’s injured tentacle, tucking the pillow underneath so it was elevated. David privately thought that was a bit excessive, but he also privately (or not-so-privately) kind of enjoyed being tended to. He was on top of their bed covers, so Patrick pulled a cozy blanket off the chair in the corner and arranged it to cover David’s legs and torso. 

“Okay.” Patrick nodded and stood back from the bed, hands on his hips, giving David an assessing look. David felt one of his right-sides drift towards Patrick, and Patrick held his hand out to let it wrap around his forearm. He patted the tentacle with his other hand before gently shaking it off. “I’ll order the pizza. Do you need anything? Does it hurt a lot? Should you take something?”

It _ did _ hurt a lot. “It does hurt a lot, so painkillers would be great, thank you, honey.” Patrick ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck and David reached out to squeeze at Patrick’s free hand. “I mean it, thank you.”

*

The next morning, David peeled off the ruined t-shirt and cleaned the wounded tentacle with a mild cleanser for sensitive skin they sell at the store—while Patrick hovered near him in the tiny bathroom. The dried blood was so dark it was almost black, and it greyed the water that flowed down the sink drain. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the cut looked pretty deep. 

Patrick leaned over his shoulder to peek at the damage. “Oh, babe that looks—“

“—I know.”

“I’ll text Ted.” Patrick kissed his cheek. 

“Why do you have Ted’s number?” David called out.

“For emergencies,” Patrick called back, and David smiled to himself.

30 minutes later, Patrick was effectively packing David into the car. He’d tried to insist that David leave all his tentacles out, _ you told me they’re comfier when they’re out, _but David assured him everyone would be better off if all but the injured appendage were retracted. Every time David was about to say something snippy about how Patrick’s fussing was borderline annoying, Patrick would give his tentacle a concerned look or gaze adoringly at David as he buckled him into the car. And then David could only think about how fucking cute his boyfriend was. 

When Patrick parked outside of the clinic, David let him get out and walk around the car and open up David’s door. He was _ dreading _ this encounter with Ted. He leaned heavily on the fact that, bad puns aside, Ted was a professional and his whole… _ history _ with Alexis wouldn’t change that. Right? He hadn’t actually spoken with Ted since the disaster of a lunch at Heather’s farm.

Patrick swung the door open and helped David out even though David had been getting in and out of cars on his own for years. David held the injured tentacle and Patrick led him up the walkway with a hand on his back. 

“Hey, buds!” Ted greeted them as they took their coats off. David took a steadying breath and followed him back to the exam room, Patrick close behind.

David had to give Ted a lot of credit—for all of his terrible jokes and even worse puns, he was a pretty good vet-slash-doctor when it came down to it. He asked David to let out all of his tentacles, taking care to examine each one for signs of either injury or distress. “Sometimes there can be like, sympathy injuries? Dry patches, tenderness, itchy crevices. That kind of thing. It usually goes away but it’s best to check.” Once it was clear that the tentacle with the cut was the only one that needed treatment, Ted went about cleaning it, using some kind of solution that stung like hell. David had felt worse pain, but he squeezed Patrick’s hand anyway when Ted brushed a sanitized cotton swab around the edges. 

His other tentacles were mostly calm, which was surprising, but David thought that Patrick’s presence just sort of… relaxed them. The neck-tentacle was, shocker, hanging around Patrick’s neck; another was wound all the way up his arm from wrist to shoulder—the same arm of the hand that David was holding, and he sort of felt like the tentacle was trying to squeeze him out. 

“Ehh, I think I’m gonna have to suture it, it’s pretty deep, David,” Ted explained, and he at least sounded sympathetic. “Maybe could do a wound-closure bandage, let me see if I have any big enough. Sit tight.” He ducked into a closet near the door to the exam room. 

“How’re you doing?” Patrick asked, sliding his fingers gently through David’s hair—enough to soothe him but not mess him up. David sighed, touching his fingertips lightly around the very edge of the wound. 

“I’m—I shouldn’t have left the lids exposed like that.” David felt _ responsible_, after all they were _ his _ tentacles. He should take care of them. They always took care of him! 

“Oh, babe,” Patrick leaned into him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. David sighed again, throat clogged with emotion, and leaned his head against Patrick’s chest. 

Ted returned minutes later holding a box of bandages. “Okay I think this’ll work—”

“You _ think _?” Patrick interrupted. “Should you look something up or—” David laid a hand on Patrick’s chest.

“It’s all right, honey.” He turned to Ted. “Walk me through this.”

Ted ran through all of the steps for application, which amounted to several tiny zip-ties attached to an adhesive bandage that Ted would stick to David’s tentacle. They did an adhesion test on a different tentacle to get a handle on the application and to make sure it would stick… they weren’t exactly made for tentacles. “They’re actually made for humans, I only have them because one of my suppliers gave me a sample box,” Ted explained as he used a mild solution to remove the test bandage.

“You ready, bud?” David wanted to roll his eyes, but Ted’s easy conversation and odd idiosyncrasies were kind of helping his anxiety—he was able to focus on Ted’s general Tedness as opposed to the fact that he almost sliced off a tentacle. Patrick grabbed David’s hand, the one that wasn’t resting on the injured tentacle near the wound, and gave it a gentle squeeze. David gave him a small smile and nodded at Ted.

“Ready.”

*

“David, let me get that,” Patrick said, shuffling over to the bed from the kitchen where he was chopping veggies for their lunch. David let him pick up the book he’d dropped on the floor while he tried to adjust his position in bed. The injured tentacle was one of only two tentacles currently out, and David had it snaked up over the top of the covers so he could keep an eye on it. 

Ted had assured Patrick that the tentacle didn’t need to be elevated, that the tentacle would likely elevate itself, if needed, by resting on David’s abdomen or chest. “Or even your chest, Patrick. It’ll sort itself it out,” he’d explained, and Patrick’s neck had flushed sweetly. 

David accepted the book and a kiss on the forehead and lay back to watch Patrick assemble their salads. The six currently retracted tentacles hadn’t been out since they left Ted’s and when David tried to slide them out, he could feel a bit of resistance. He didn’t like to force them, so he left them in but he would check on them again in a few hours. Flipping open his book, the piece of notepaper he’d been using as a bookmark fell onto his lap. He gasped and Patrick was at his side in a second, hands fluttering around the shape of him as David stared at the piece of paper. It was his checklist of the scarves he needed to knit, separated by quantity per color. 

“Patrick,” he all but whined. “How am I going to knit the scarves?” The neck-tentacle fluttered over to Patrick, prodding at his shoulders and chest in alarm. David’s breath was getting shallow and he clenched his hand around the list. 

“Hey, hey,” Patrick said softly, laying his hand against David’s chest, solid and grounding. He sat on the side of the bed and he ran his fingers gently through David’s hair as he continued murmuring soft, reassuring words. David could feel Patrick’s breathing, watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, and focused on matching its cadence. “You okay?” Patrick spoke after a few minutes of calming both David and the tentacles.

David shook his head. Though he did feel better, he was not okay. How was he going to finish knitting twenty more scarves by the fundraiser date when he couldn’t even get most of his tentacles to come out? He took a shuddery breath and clapped a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to actually cry. He definitely didn’t need Patrick to see that. 

“Oh, David,” Patrick sighed and kissed his forehead. “C’mon. Let’s eat in the kitchen and then watch a movie.”

David nodded, but couldn’t look Patrick in the eye, couldn’t see his earnest little face without bursting into tears, probably. “Maybe a thriller,” David offered, petting lightly at the injured tentacle. That was the tentacles’ favorite kind of movie—which Patrick enjoyed, too—and they always crowded around Patrick when the action started. “Maybe we can lure them out. Because I really need them to get their shit together.”

Patrick lifted the tentacle at his shoulder and pressed a kiss near the tip before heading back to the kitchen. 

*

Salads finished and kitchen tidied, Patrick, David and two tentacles—the injured one and the neck-tentacle—settled on the couch to watch one of the movies in the _ Jason Bourne _ franchise… David could never quite keep them straight. He wasn’t really into action thrillers, but Patrick enjoyed them, and apparently so did the tentacles. David privately thought it was so they could poke and snuggle close to Patrick, which David didn’t exactly blame them for, so he kept it to himself. He hoped that between the movie and Patrick he’d be able to coax them all out… they’d been drawn out before by the exciting music that accompanied car chases. 

Another tentacle slid out as soon as David pulled a bowl of gummy bears into his lap, clumsily dipping into the bowl and thrusting a tentacleful of candy in Patrick’s face. Patrick jerked his head back, startled, but the tentacle pressed the treats against Patrick’s lips again and he opened his mouth to accept one. David pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh—this was the third time in the last week that tentacle had plucked a piece of food off of David’s plate, or a communal bowl, and given it to Patrick. The food-offering tentacle lingered near Patrick’s cheek while he chewed before Patrick gently pushed it away, arranging it across his lap. David was full-on grinning now but Patrick didn’t look over, just blushed and busied himself with queuing up the movie and arranging the pillows and blankets around them. 

At the first scene involving a foot chase through international streets, with thumping music and a lot of screeching tires, two more tentacles slid out, both of them gliding up Patrick’s chest—which seemed to be their way of asking for attention. And, well, okay that was David’s way of asking for attention, too. Patrick indulged them, like always, and spent the first half of the movie petting them both in between accepting gummy bears from his apparent snack-tentacle. 

They paused halfway through for a bathroom break, and Patrick refreshed their drinks, filling a small bowl with pretzels to bring back to the couch. David was glad they were able to lure out five tentacles and hoped they could get the rest out by the end of the movie, because he didn’t really have a back-up plan and he needed to get them back on track with their knitting. The ones out didn’t look… great, though. Their color was way off—pale and sallow and dusty looking. David could feel that they were somehow heavier than usual, taking more of his effort if he wanted to use them. 

Just as they were settling back in to finish the movie, there was a frantic-sounding knock on Patrick’s apartment door. Patrick made a curious noise and got up to check the peephole. “It’s your sister?” He said, pulling open the door and David twisted around to see.

“Oh my _ god_, David!” She said, clomping into the apartment with her arms full of flowers and what looked like containers of leftovers. 

“Hello, Alexis…” Patrick trailed off as Alexis breezed past him, focused on David. She dumped her things on the kitchen table and flicked her hair back behind her shoulder. 

“David! Ted told me a tentacle got hurt!” She cried, leaning over the back of the couch to get a closer look. David felt two more tentacles make their appearance, and he probably should have thought about using Alexis earlier. 

David’s tentacles were really… affected when Alexis was off galavanting around the globe and getting into dangerous situations. When David would get a call that she was being held captive by Somali pirates, or was stuck in an embassy after inadvertently breaking a law punishable by death, his tentacles took it hard. Sometimes they’d stay retracted for days, and it would be painful physically and emotionally—for David to try and force them out. Usually, once David had come up with a plan to get Alexis out of her own shit, they’d slink out, but be droopy and sallow and melancholic until Alexis was back within tentacle’s reach.

“_ When _ did you talk to Ted?” David asked. “I literally just went there this morning.” His tentacles reached behind him to tousle her hair and pat her shoulders and Alexis laughed delightedly. She held up a hand, palm facing out and two tentacles immediately swung over to tap their tips to her palm in a modified high five motion. David moved them aside, glad for their enthusiasm at least, and gave Alexis a look. “Well?” He repeated. 

Alexis came around the couch and sat down next to him, a few tentacles drifting over to settle around her. Patrick, David saw in his periphery, quietly headed over to his desk next to his bed, and David appreciated the illusion of privacy. 

So Alexis confessed to David, in a voice quieter than he could ever remember her using, that she’d gone over to the clinic to tell Ted she was in love with him. “And I just… well, then I just left. After I asked if I could adopt a dog for the night.” She booped a right-side that had slunk up her arm and smiled sadly. 

David opened his mouth to—to hopefully say something comforting, but Alexis perked up and gave him a watery, falsely cheerful smile. “But then I went to lunch and told Twy about your tentacle, which I guess is why all this stuff was dropped off at our room!” She stood again and moved over to the kitchen table. “I guess people feel bad for you David?”

Patrick walked back into the kitchen, picking up a tray of what looked like snickerdoodles. “This is really nice of everyone, David. Look, this one is from Bob and Gwen.”

“Okay, _ who _ is Gwen?” He got up to survey his haul. 

Patrick ignored him and picked up a bouquet of flowers. “This is from the Jazzagals—”

David spun to face Alexis. “Oh my god, does mom know?” His voice was laced with panic. 

Alexis grimaced, flopping her hands forward. “Um—”

David's phone vibrated against the kitchen counter and he groaned. “No,” he cried. “I can’t take it. Patrick, please answer it. Please, for me,” he begged and Patrick leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Sure, David.”

*

Once Patrick assured Moira that David was alive and his tentacle was being treated, and that they’d figure out the knitting, they settled back in to finish the movie and hopefully lure the last tentacle out. It came out eventually—when the two lounging on Patrick’s chest were startled by an explosion on screen—and it snuggled between Patrick and David on the couch, laying across David’s lap to get there. Patrick’s snack-tentacle nudged it out of the way to find its way into the bowl of pretzels and shove one at Patrick’s mouth. David rolled his eyes, pulling the tentacle back to his side of the couch, knocking the pretzel from its grasp. “That’s enough of that, he can put his own pretzels in his mouth,” David muttered. 

Patrick laughed and reached over to stroke along that tentacle anyway, making a point to eat the pretzel it had attempted to feed him. David tried to scoff but it came out more as a half-giggle, half-cough, so he shoved a few gummy bears in his mouth and turned his attention back to the movie that he was not following at all.

*

After dinner that night, David set himself up at their kitchen table—knitting supplies arranged conveniently for his tentacles to access. All eight technically knew how to knit, but Patrick’s neck-tentacle would be useless if asked to focus on anything other than Patrick’s neck, so that one was out. Plus, there was the injured tentacle out of commission as well. David let it lay in his lap, ignored the neck-tentacle, and tried to get the rest of the tentacles to do something resembling knitting a scarf. 

It was tough, they were kind of lethargic and sad, and when he picked up the knitting needles to cast on (which was tricky with tentacles to begin with), both tentacles holding them dropped them within ten seconds. He tried switching tentacles, thinking two on the same side would be able to coordinate better with holding a needle and a piece of yarn, but the third tentacle that was meant to create the slingshot ending up nearly jabbing itself in a sensitive spot near its tip. 

Five variations of tentacles later and David was no closer to knitting a damn thing. He dropped the needles with a clatter, causing Patrick to look over from his spot at the desk where he was working on his computer. “David?” He called, standing up to stretch. “You all right?”

“Nope!” David said, glaring at his tentacles and crossing his arms. Normally, all David had to do was get them started, then they just sort of...knitted on their own. It still took a little bit of David’s concentration to keep them going—so it’s not like he could knit (or do anything) in his sleep—but he could still do other things. Like read, or scroll through Instagram, or save new display ideas on Pinterest. But now, after the trauma and stress of one of them being injured, they apparently couldn’t get their shit together. 

Patrick frowned at David, coming over to scoop up the needles from the floor and tucking them into a ball of yarn. He pulled a chair close and sat down, wrapping and arm around David’s shoulders. “It’ll be all right. Maybe they just need some time to recover?” Patrick said, voice soft as he pet over the injured tentacle in David’s lap. His neck-tentacle arrived to slide under the collar of his long-sleeved tee and David was glad, at least, to see one tentacle acting normally. Even if it was the most obnoxious one. 

David sighed and leaned his head on Patrick's shoulder, cradling the injured tentacle against his body. Patrick was probably right, that they—David included—just needed to recover. They still had a few weeks to knit the remaining scarves for the fundraiser.

He decided to give it a few days and try again. 

*

A week and a half later, David’s tentacles were still not fully cooperating with the knitting needles and David was trying not to get too frustrated with them. It was tough, though, when one of them was singularly focused on Patrick’s neck, and another kept trying to feed Patrick snacks and from David’s plate. 

The injured tentacle was healing nicely, according to Ted, but Patrick was still pretty concerned with it, pulling it into his lap while they sat on the couch, or onto his chest when they were relaxing in bed. 

“David, could you maybe try and make some progress knitting by hand?” Patrick asked one evening after David gave up trying for the night. 

“I—” David turned on his side, snuggling into Patrick’s chest next to his injured tentacle. “I don’t know how to knit by hand.”

Patrick looked startled. “What?”

“I only know how to knit with my tentacles. It was a hobby for—for them.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, rubbing along the injured tentacle again. “I’m sorry, David.”

David sighed. “I’m going to have to tell her about the scarves.”

*

David broke the news to Moira at Jazzagals practice after work one day, and it was clear she was forcing herself to act sympathetic about the injury even though she obviously wanted to blame David for ruining the entire fundraiser. “I suppose my fundraiser will… just have to suffer in the name of your recovery.”

David was about to tell her where she could put her fundraiser when someone else spoke up. “Oh, David, I can help knit,” Twyla spoke up from the back of the room. Everyone turned to look at her. “I’m pretty fast, I could help make up some numbers at least?”

David glared at his mother. “You told me you were _ helpless _!” 

“David,” she drawled, “surely you cannot begrudge me the luxury of knowing my charitable gifts are of a transcendent quality!” 

David turned to look at Patrick, as if Patrick could possibly do anything about the situation, before addressing Moira again. “_ My _ charitable gifts!” David exclaimed, hands and tentacles flying out in wild gestures. “ _ I’m _ making the gifts!”

Ronnie stood up and moved to the front of the room. “I can knit, too. If you need help or something,” she said apathetically.

David _ could not _ believe that his mother had basically an entire knitting club at her disposal yet she still managed to get David to knit 25 scarves. He spun on his heel and stalked out of the town hall, retracting all but his injured tentacle, and climbing back into Patrick’s car. He was breathing hard, and he crossed his arms to try to contain his absolute rage at the _ audacity _ of—

Patrick opened the driver’s door and slid into the car, slotting the key into the ignition but not turning over the engine. He laid his hand on David’s thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Okay, that was—”

David glared at him, but settled his expression when he saw the look of worry on Patrick’s face. “What am I gonna do?” David put his face in his hands. 

“I think your best bet is to have Twy and Ronnie help? They did offer.” He leaned over to pet the injured tentacle curled up in David’s lap and it curled around his fingers. Patrick made a surprised noise, because that tentacle hadn’t really been interacting with anyone, or the other tentacles, since David had injured it. “Well, this is good news, hey?”

David took a deep breath. “What if they’re never back to normal?” His voice cracked on the last word and he cleared his throat, shaking his head like that would cancel his emotions—like an Etch-A-Sketch. He ran a finger along the injured appendage, tracing the outline of dull powder blue patches butting up against the cloudy gray swirls. “I don’t think they’ve ever been… off for this long. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, the bandage isn’t even off yet, babe. And… despite all evidence to the contrary, I guess you’re not _ actually _ magical.”

David rolled his eyes, but smiled over at Patrick, curling a hand around the tentacle in his lap. “Let’s go,” he sighed.

*

“All right, bud, looks like you’re all set here. Should be one hundred percent back to your _ tentacular self _ in a day or two,” Ted said as he gave the now-healed tentacle a wipe with a cleansing solution. David bit his lip, hard, to avoid reacting to the pun. “You’ll probably have a scar, for at least a little bit.”

“Kinda badass,” Patrick commented, squeezing David’s shoulder. 

David gave him an unimpressed look even as his neck-tentacle stroked the side of Patrick’s throat, dipping under the collar of his button-up. His tentacles were constantly belying his words—David could barely pretend to be annoyed anymore without a tentacle sliding over to exaggeratedly reassure Patrick that they still liked him. Patrick grinned at him, but gently moved the tentacle away. 

“I’d take it easy for one or two days, but after that you should be able to resume normal activities.” Ted didn’t say it with any kind of tone, and he didn’t give David any kind of look, but David felt a flush on his neck thinking of the _ activities _ they had been avoiding with the tentacles because Patrick, in David’s opinion, was paranoid about further injuring the one he’d cut. He refused to look at Patrick, and muttered his thanks to Ted before sliding off the exam table. Patrick and Ted shook hands, and Ted said something that made Patrick laugh, but David was already halfway towards the door. 

Stopping in the entryway, David tried to retract the tentacle he’d injured—it had been out since that fateful night. It felt weird, and it stung a little, but it was… nice. It felt like stretching an achy muscle that you’d been newly exercising. 

“How’s it feel?” Patrick asked, stepping up behind him and resting his chin on David’s shoulder. David reached back to slip his fingers through the short hair at the base of Patrick’s neck. He took a deep breath, probably deeper than he had since his mother swanned into Rose Apothecary to beg him to knit a ton of scarves. 

“Good. Restful? Just—really good,” David sighed, leaning his head back against Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick hummed against his neck and David felt a few of his tentacles extend back to wrap around Patrick’s shoulders. “Might be nice to get some more rest in before the knitting extravaganza tonight?” He suggested. David stood up straight and pulled the rest of his tentacles in, reaching his hands above his head to stretch his spine. 

“Yeah,” David turned to settle into Patrick’s arms. “Twyla said she was going to teach me how to knit by hand.” David had thought about declining her offer and saying he would try with his tentacles, but… it _ was _ a really nice offer, and it might be nice to learn something semi-new. Even if his tentacles could technically knit faster once they were (hopefully) back to normal. Patrick leaned in for a kiss, lips soft and sweet against David’s mouth. David made a quiet, pleased noise, but Patrick pulled away far too soon. 

“That sounds fun, David,” he said sincerely, dropping another quick kiss to David’s lips. There was something to be said about the fact that David didn’t immediately scoff and roll his eyes at that comment, at the prospect of Twyla teaching him literally anything. Instead, he ducked his head, his hair brushing Patrick’s cheek.

“It does sound like fun,” he agreed. 

*

“Okay, and now you purl, remember we just went over that?” Twyla said, voice patient and even and David was kind of… enjoying himself. “So that’s when you put the yarn in front of the needle.”

“In _ front _ of the needle,” David repeated. 

Patrick leaned in close from his seat next to David, watching in fascination as the rest of his tentacles plucked at the various supplies on the table. They were feeling a lot more like normal, and they’d enjoyed meeting the rest of the Jazzagals and being around so many people at once. Jocelyn placed a tray of appetizers nearby and the snack-tentacle dove right in, knocking a few astray, and thrusted a pig-in-a-blanket into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick made a noise of surprise, kindly pushing the tentacle down across his lap even as he chewed. 

David mouthed, “Sorry,” to the room at large, and tried to rein in a few appendages, wrapping two around his middle to keep them out of trouble. 

“Oh don’t worry about them, David,” Twyla said, reaching over to correct David's fingers, pulling the yarn to the front of the needle.

“Right, right, the front,” David mumbled, sliding the needle into the next stitch. 

“My mom’s boyfriend’s roommate's college professor also has tentacles,” Twyla continued.

“Uh—”

“Oh, and my cousin Marty!”

David looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “That’s… that’s really cool Twyla,” he said—and he actually… meant it?

Patrick nudged his shoulder and David gave him a twisty smile and nudged him back, noticing his neck-tentacle rested over Patrick’s shoulder and across his collarbone. He turned back towards the soon-to-be-scarf in his hands and looped the yarn around the top of the needle, before pulling it through. David looked around the town hall, watched Ronnie helping Jocelyn get a scarf started, watched who he was starting to think was Gwen set out a tray of cookies at the other end of the table. A few people he didn’t recognize as Jazzagals were also in the room, knitting away for the fundraiser. 

David felt… warm. He felt like he could—get used to this feeling. Community. Belonging. 

Twyla called his attention back to his scarf, and he blinked hard against the onslaught of emotions rising up in his chest—which he did _ not _ appreciate. He refocused on his scarf and leaned into Patrick, warm and solid at his side. Maybe he’d teach Patrick to knit one day.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been getting a lot of comments (thank you!) about the snack tentacle and I can’t believe I forgot to explicity mention that the snack tentacle was 100% [this_is_not_nothing’s](%E2%80%9C) idea. So please give her all the credit.


End file.
